Page 11 of Potions and Proposals
This had to be a test. A test to see how far they’d go to protect and lead their town. She wouldn’t disappoint them again, even if a fire in her belly smouldered with resentment over being backed into a corner. And she didn’t want Benedict to have the upper hand.
“I accept the proposal,” Lucy blurted out.
Benedict touched her hand, shaking his head. Lucy snatched it away, not wanting to be comforted by the person trying to takewhat was rightfully hers.If he doesn’t want to accept, then he can put an end to this and decline.
“If this is what the coven has decided, I’ll do what’s asked of me. But I can’t force Benedict to agree,” she added. Surely he would decline. There was no way he’d want to spend his life with her for the sake of the Manor. She had far more to lose than he did.
“I accept.” Benedict spoke clearly, with no doubt or hesitation.
Wide-eyed, Lucy stared at him, expecting to find him smirking as though he had called her bluff. Instead, he looked as startled by his answer as she was to hear it.
A round of applause buried their silent exchange of confusion. The coven offered their congratulations, but Lucy only heard her heart beating in her ears. As goblets were raised in cheers, all she could do was stare at Benedict, who was accepting their congratulations with poise. He’d been faster to shake off the shock.
She forced a smile and accepted a glass of wine, wondering what the hell they’d got themselves into. They might be celebrating the prospect of binding two families, but by All Hallows’ Eve, she’d be surprised if either one of them made it to the altar.
“Grams? You home?” Lucy called out, in desperate need of her grandmother’s famous healing hugs.
Benedict had tried to catch up with her after the meeting, but she needed time to think, and she hadn’t wanted to argue in front of the coven.
Her call echoed through the corridor and went unanswered. Grams was probably at the tarot shop or in the brewing room on the third floor.
Hanging her coat on the golden hook by the front door, Lucy noted that the forest-green wallpaper was beginning to peel again. She’d hoped the masking spell would hold it in place for longer than a week. Slipping off her muddy boots, she sighed as the floorboards creaked beneath her feet, reminding her of another much-needed repair. Hawthorne House had been in their family for generations. It needed constant repairsbecause Grams refused to move out, to modernise the dark floral wallpaper, wood, and pointed doorways. Lucy preferred something a bit brighter– a little less Gothic – but the house had been left unaltered for so long it had a spirit all its own, and changing it felt wrong.
“Grams?” she called again, turning on the antique lamps in the hall. It was already past ten. Despite being in her eighties, Grams never worried about breaking a hip in the dark.She insisted on maintaining the lamps, though, for when Gramps visited from the afterlife; they were one of his favourite features.
“Lucy? Is that you? I’m in the brewing room. Come up– I can’t leave the pot, or the lizard skin will burn!” Grams yelled. Her voice was still clear and strong from years of giving orders. Since Lucy’s dad worked at the university in the city and was away from home during the academic year, it was just Lucy, her mum and Grams at home.
“Please tell me you didn’t use the dried skins again. They stink out the house…” Lucy got a whiff of something rancid. “I just got the smell out of the room from last week’s brew!” she huffed. The spiral staircase always winded her.
“Bring me the bat’s blood when you pass the pantry,” Grams requested.
“What are you working on?” Lucy shouted back, stopping on the second floor. Trying to figure out what Grams was up to was a welcome distraction from the night’s earlier events. Mum still wasn’t home, and she couldn’t wait to havethatdiscussion. She could only hope her mum had a plan.
“Stop shouting through the house. You’ll wake your uncle.” Grams had forgotten, again, that Uncle Gregory had passed away years ago. Not that it mattered; Gregory popped into Foxford from time to time when he had a soul to collect, though his job as a Grim Reaper kept him from making regular visits.
At the pantry, Lucy found the spare brewing ingredients kept in the coldest cupboard, thanks to the floor being the most visited by those who had passed on. Only Grams slept on the second floor, because she wanted to stay in the same room when Gramps visited. Lucy hoped to one day love someone as much as her grandparents loved each other. Her stomach sank as she passed their bedroom, reminded that she was to bind herself to Benedict on All Hallows’ Eve. The thought of never having such a love made her heart heavy, so she decided to focus on the task at hand.
She brushed aside the cobwebs in the top corner of the doorframe of the cupboard.“The spiders must have got out again. This is why I say not to buy live ones when the dried ones are just as good,”she muttered, finding the vial of bat’s blood between the rattlesnake venom and the dried cockroach. She didn’t want to know why Grams needed it, but after the day she’d had, it was probably better not to ask.
Grams spent her well-earned retirement concocting spells and potions for those willing to pay for the unrivalled talent of their former High Priestess. From falling in love to curing your cystic acne, she was the one everyone went to for help, and since Gramps had passed away, she liked to keep busy. To be honest, the more she helped others, the less she meddled in Lucy’s life. She always joked about setting her up, so Lucy figured Grams would get a great laugh out of her arranged marriage.
Reaching the third floor, she was almost out of breath.Those stairs never get any shorter.
“Hi, Gramps,” she said, pausing at his portrait. “Making sure she doesn’t blow up the house again?” She smiled, hearing Grams chatting to herself through the slightly open door.“One vial of bat’s blood. Please tell me you aren’t helping the vampires with the blood substitute again. The last one gave them awful hives.”
The brewing room’s black and white chequered floor tiles were littered with scraps of paper. Grams was working at the other end of the room, surrounded by bookshelves and cases of vials, both filled and empty.
“No, they’ve given up on a substitute blood, and this”– she popped another ingredient into the cauldron – “has nothing to do with vampires.” Thankfully, whatever she was brewing smelt sweet, like honey or maple syrup. Her white curls were frizzy from hours of standing over the bubbling cauldron.
Lucy started to clean up, finding the scribbles of what looked like an original spell, with a list of characteristics and potion ingredients.
“‘Kind, capable, passionate’? What is this? Please tell me it’s not another love spell. They never end well!”
“How was the meeting?” Grams dodged her question. “Your mum couldn’t settle before she left. Gwendoline might be her friend, but I think she is asking too much.” Lucy listened intently. “Suggesting her son take your place was rather left field, even if I do like the boy.”
Hearing Benedict referred to as a boy almost made Lucy laugh, but to Grams, she supposed they would always be young ones causing trouble.
“You knew Gwendoline was going to nominate Benedict? Why didn’t you warn me?” she asked, sitting up on the counter lined with labelled brown bags for orders.
